A Hint of Henderson
by deusexmachina1552
Summary: After hijacking Hastur's essence and resurrecting himself, Old Man Henderson is sent to a world where there are no wacky cultists to shoot and he can live in peace with his lawn gnomes. Well, that is until Emiya Kiritsugu and the Fourth Holy Grail War show up.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

It was an ordinary day... for Old Man Henderson at least.

Presently, Henderson sat on a lawn chair, admiring the Hawaiian painting he commissioned an artist to paint. Smoking a joint, he sank into his chair with a relaxed pose, not bothering to take off his sunglasses. 'Rupert, his stuffed parrot, sat on his shoulder, unmoving, yet moving at the same time.

Old Man Henderson was, by no means, what you could call 'normal'. In fact, he was far from normal. Back before this story, Henderson lived back in a relatively mediocre-sized town in America. Or England and/or China depending on the universe.

Driving down to the church after a rather off day, Henderson kicked that door open and sprayed the room with shotgun shells, killing everything in the room.

Burning, torching down the place with a cigar, Henderson began to make plans to get his damn lawn gnomes back, which eventually devolved into a) killing cultists and b) a lot of arson. Around 40k worth of lawn gnomes was stolen from him, some from America, and others from the rest of the world.

From _Henderson's_ point of view however, the demonic bastards deserved it.

After dying from a building's worth of explosives, he hijacked an eldritch abomination's power, handed it over to Nyarlathotep, the Crawling Chaos, and resurrected himself in an alternate universe where ugly ass poodles don't exist and cults are frequently shunned.

Never stopping for sanity, Henderson kept moving along, believing that all religious figures were loonies. Knocking on his door one time, some priests placed a bunch of pamphlets into his hands. Usually a bullet or two was enough to knock them down a notch. It's hard to bother someone when you're dead, after all.

As of a few years back, Henderson settled down nearby a dock in Fuyuki City, Japan, hoping to live out the rest of his life in chaos. Threatening the English-Japanese teachers there, he was able to learn the arcane language of the Japanese.

Even though he looked old enough to be someone's grandfather, Henderson still had around ninety-five years left, because of the negotiated one-eighths of the Eldritch God's life essence between him and Nyarlathotep.

It proved to be handy. Bullet wounds healed rapidly because of its voodoo magic. Wasting it away, Henderson drunk like a mad man, downing bottle after bottle, can after can. Sure he went to a nearby Japanese Pub for some free drinks, but that was really it. Rivaling the best of drinkers, Henderson had become a "beyond-help-Alcoholic", getting drunk and kicked out of the bar every time.

The tiny fraction of Eldritch God's essence wouldn't last Henderson forever though. Deteriorating faster as his life went on, little injuries such as cuts and bruises made little incisions to his body, chipping off his life by a day or two. Added on top of his previous life essence, Henderson could spare a very tiny cut from a drawer. A bullet wound would take a lot out of the life essence though, so he was careful not to get shot by those damn kids on the streets. They made a hell of a lot of noise at night.

Now, unbeknownst to him as he sat in his Hawaiian paradise, there was an intense battle under his window. Deaf after several long years, Henderson couldn't hear anything well, or at a far distance at any rate.

"You know Rupert?" he addressed the stuffed parrot, as he did day after day, reclining back on his customized lawn chair. This routine never changed: always the same conversation at the same time, which would have driven most people crazy if they were in his shoes "Most people would've asked for a hit, but you know how much I love this–" Henderson was cut off as metal -and a yell -rang aloud in the night. Shooting out of his chair, he ripped open the window blinds, peering out of the glass pane.

"What the hell?" he looked out of the window to see sparks erupt from nowhere. Henderson thought that they were tossing matches on his lawn, not that he had one, "Right, that's it."

Stretching, reaching, his limbs creaked as he made his intention clear. Murdering the lot below would be very therapeutic. Every night, some kids fought on the streets, or broke a window –Henderson was sick of it. Even if the police questioned him, he could probably get away with it, and if he couldn't, then gunning them down would be a simple alternative.

Clambering into his kitchen, he wrapped himself a bunch of joints with notebook paper, the thin material sagging under the sheer weight of the inserted object.

Pouring himself a cup of alcohol, Henderson grabbed his shotgun from the closet and went downstairs to his front door. Kicking it open, he stepped outside, and turned to stare at the clashing arschelocks with angry eyes, his face showing clear irritation at being abruptly aroused from his leisure time.

Opening his mouth, Henderson shouted the words that would make the next week or two hellish for 14 people.

And so started the madness...

* * *

Heaven's Feel, the war for the Holy Grail, a wish granting object. A war in which seven 'Heroic Spirits' clash against each other to bring the artifact to their master.

That wasn't the true nature of the Heaven's Feel however. The true purpose of the grail was to kill all seven servants in order to create a perfect resurrection of a deceased being. Three family representatives and four other anomalies competed in a battle royale to see who was best fit to receive the grail.

Irisviel von Einzbern, one of the families, looked at the battle in awe.

In the war, each servant had a class defined by their general skillset. A Saber is skilled at a blade, an Lancer at a lance, Archer's at bows, and a Caster at magic. It also could be said to Assassins, who specialize in killing masters; Riders, who are adept at riding constructs; and Berserker's, who are axe-crazy, but extremely strong.

Right now, Irisviel was watching a battle between her servant Saber, and Lancer.

This battle in front of her was proceeding with extraordinary intensity.

She knew it to be a merciless duel that could only have taken place in that remote era.

Warriors clad in armor, in single combat battling with all the strength in their bodies amid the light reflecting off sword and spear and the shadow of swinging blades.

But the amount of escaping prana and the intense heat were different.

If it was merely a clash between cold steel, what would be the mighty torrent of air that accompanied it and threatened to destroy all within sight?

The foot that landed crushed the ground.

The wind that followed the swinging of weapons crudely severed the lamp post in half.

Irisviel could no longer see the movements carried out at such high speeds. She was only feeling the after-shock of the conflict between the two.

The peeling sheet iron on the outer walls of the warehouses was ripped away by the wind from Irisviel's side as if it was a piece of coiled tin foil. She could not comprehend how the iron can be torn away. Perhaps it was Saber's sword or Lancer's spear that brushed against its adjacent hollow space. Apart from that, she could not come up with any other explanation.

The wind was moaning.

Faced with a dimension that is completely at odds with the physical laws of this world, the air emitted paranoid wails.

A chaotic storm raged on the empty shopping street, destroying, trampling all things within.

Just hand-to-hand combat between the two would be enough to ruin an entire street.

Heaven's Feel —

Irisviel was experiencing the awe and wonder told only in stories. The world where myths and legends dwelled came alive vividly before her eyes.

This could be the legends reborn.

Shafts of thunder tore the sky apart, knolls of roaring waves shattered the earth. The imaginary realm was miraculously materialized with astonishing clarity.

This is… the war between Servants…

Faced with a world that she had hitherto not thought possible, all Irisviel could do was stare as if transfixed.

At the same time, Saber was experiencing a similar wonder.

Slaughter at war was truly a piece of cake for her. As a knight that braved her life through countless battles, she fought with her enemies as smoothly as she would yield a knife and a fork.

In her comprehension a 'spear' should be a weapon that is wielded with both hands. It is common knowledge.

So she thought that for Lancer, using two spears is just a means to confuse the enemy.

As the Heroic Spirit of the Lance, the spear in his hands should be his Noble Phantasm. Whereas, revealing the true name of the Noble Phantasm in the Heaven's Feel equates to exposing one's true identity.

Therefore, the amulets bound onto Lancer's spears must be for the purpose of concealing the spear's real name. Looks like his Master and him were very prudent on the matter of hiding identities.

If that was the case, it would not be hard to explain why he was using two spears.

Because Saber does not know which spear is the true Noble Phantasm, she had to fend off the attacks made by both of them.

Even so, the long spear on the right, the short spear on the left — one of them must be Lancer's 'true weapon.'

Between one's habitual weapon and the weapon used to dazzle the enemy, 'feint' and 'solid' moves can be distinguished. So Saber paid close attention to each of his attacks. She believed that if she can recognise the true lance, her chances of winning would be improved immensely.

Yet —

Her own attack was deflected for the third time. Saber had to step back to wait for a better opportunity.

"What's wrong, Saber? Your attacks are not really working."

"…"

She could not argue back to Lancer's taunts. After about thirty exchanges, she still had not managed to hit her opponent even once.

Lancer swung the lance in his right hand and approached her in a straight run. The swinging shaft covered a wide area, its strength and speed equal to what would be achieved with both hands. No, precisely because it was used with one hand, there were many moves not capable when a spear is used conventionally with two hands. The lance was thrust towards Saber from an unexpected angle.

Nevertheless a lance has its own limitations. Because of its extended length, a gap would inevitably show up between two attacks. During that time, the shorter spear from the left can follow in and continue to hassle Saber.

Saber's attack just then was broken by the short spear's immaculate defence.

Simultaneously using two lances, yet making no feint moves. This Heroic Spirit, Lancer, merged the lances in his left and right hands in a seamless choreography. Just what kind of devotion and practice was needed to obtain such a strong fighting style?

… This man is good!

Saber was still quivering with having a strong opponent in her first battle until then. But now Saber had suddenly escaped from that shadow of fear.

Despite that, according to observers, Lancer would appear to have an advantage with his incessant attacks, the truth was not so.

Lancer was as good as exhausted from fending off Saber's attacks since they first engaged. Despite his taunts he was also powerless to change the situation.

For Lancer, who is capable of using his lance with just one hand, dual-wielding two spears, long and short, at the same time would enable him to attack both long-range and close-range. Taking account of the supremacy in weaponry, he should not have been forced into his current predicament by Saber and her single sword.

However —

How did the sword…

Lancer complained silently in his heart. It was not only the observing Irisviel that could not see the movement of the high-speed sword. Even Lancer, a Servant himself, could not discern the trajectory of the sword in Saber's hands.

Lancer had no way of knowing. This too is one of Heroic Spirit Arturia's Noble Phantasms, the threat of Invisible Air • Barrier of the Wind King.

The air surrounding the sword was compacted together with immense amounts of prana, creating impossible refractions of light, rendering the sword invisible. Although it is not too much a support for the Noble Phantasm, its result was however very obvious in melee combat.

Saber's opponent is attacked with an invisible sword, and the countering attack is similarly blocked by an invisible sword. Lancer's worry was understandable. Even though he could decipher Saber's attacks by her movement, he could not make surprise attacks on her due to the inability to see the length of her blade.

Therefore Lancer can only approximate things and keep himself outside of Saber's range. Also, only then can his magnificent continuous attacks be used to their full extent. Despite him being able to block all of Saber's attacks, he had yet to find an opportunity to deal her a lethal blow.

This woman, is quite good…!

Facing the enemy that he had just met, knowing the time had come for him fight with his life, a sad smile emerged on Lancer's face.

The two Heroic Spirits devoted their entire selves to the fight, sparing no thoughts to the world surrounding them.

No, even if they had stayed on guard, in their current state they might still be oblivious to the fact that someone was slipping into the terrain...

The reason was that, not only is the newcomer a considerable distance from the sparks flying off the deadly dance of blade and spear, he moved soundlessly in the shadows, and also had the ability of "Presence Concealment" that can bypass a Servant's detection.

A gust of wind from the sea fluttered the black robe; the sliver of a satisfactory smile emerged on the countenance beneath the white skull mask.

No one could have thought that the Servant "Assassin," eliminated in front of many witnesses last night, now stood in the evening shopping street.

Assassin hid in the perfect spot to observe the straightforward battle — the crane that loomed beside the cliff. The location was about 500 meters away from the site of the skirmish. As a Servant with eyesight surpassing that of a human he could clearly discern the two's conflict, even spotting their expressions with accuracy. Meanwhile, the two combatants barely had time to consider if they were being spied upon.

He could have remained in spiritual form and obtain information from a much closer distance. But while he is in spiritual form, his senses would have turned into spiritual detection; and the job that his Master gave him tonight was to 'observe with your eyes.'

Assassin, who understood his Master's intentions, silently gazed at the battle in the distance according to his order...

...And was startled by a shout below.

* * *

Shock. That was what Kiritsugu Emiya, the Magus Killer was feeling right now.

Shock at the sheer audacity of the yell. Disbelief that a witness would actually _want_ to get involved. A sigh at the old man's assumption that he could defeat servants with a mere shotgun.

Composing himself rather quickly, he radioed to Maiya.

"Keep an eye on Assassin. If the old man gets out of hand, eliminate him and retreat."

Kiritsugu, was of course referring to the black shadow perched atop of the telephone pole. Likewise, he thought it safe to make a plan in case the old man _did _interfere the battle between servants heavily. Despite the shotgun, Servants could not be killed so easily by mundane weapons –even if said weapon was a gun.

"Roger... that," Maiya radioed back. Kiritsugu could not blame her for her bout of bewilderness. Looking at a battle between servants, most citizens of Fuyuki would have either: a) hide and try to forget what happened; b) run away; or c) have a panic attack.

Eyeing the old man warily, Kiritsugu shifted his gun back to Kayneth El-Melloi, Master of Lancer. Just what stunt was he trying to pull? Not that he could pull a stunt with _that_ body. It wasn't as if he was a servant...

* * *

A shout... possibly in some sort of eldritch tongue?

"..."

Saber and Lancer stopped their battle and _stared_ at Henderson in disbelief. Her eye twitching, Saber gripped her invisible sword very tightly.

They couldn't _understand _the words coming out of his mouth. Was he trying to curse them?

Gripping Gae Buidhe cautiously, Lancer cocked an eyebrow, prepared to leap into combat. Perhaps this was Caster they were both facing? The vibrant colors of the man's shirt didn't seem to suit Assassin.

Still... you never knew.

Hell, they were even more shocked by his outlandish appearance. Not surprising, considering his attire. He wore a Hawaiian T-Shirt over a similar undershirt beneath, his white hair shaped into a Mohawk. Sitting on the bridge of his nose were a pair of aviator shades, blocking his eyes to everyone in view. And...was that a parrot on his shoulder?

Henderson went into a series of motions.

Leveling his shotgun at the Heroic Spirits, Saber tackled Irisviel aside, much to the Homunculus's surprise. Lancer nimbly dodged the projectiles sent his way before rolling behind several crates, landing with finesse. It wouldn't provide much cover, but it was a start. Reluctant to kill a witness, Lancer contacted his master through the mental link they shared.

_"My lord?" _Lancer inquired as Henderson calmly strided towards him on his heelies, the military boots clacking with every step. It was clear that he was walking towards him. Lancer was under no illusions to what his master would do about the situation. As a magus, Kayneth El-Melloi must preserve the secrecy of Magecraft to all non-magical eyes.

_"...Kill him. He's a witness to the war." _was El-Melloi's response. It was as Lancer suspected. His Lord would not want any witnesses to the war. A shame, considering that his clash with Saber began to interest him... but nevertheless, there could not be any witnesses to the war.

Lancer nodded in affirmative and stepped out, "Sorry Saber, but it looks like we'll have to finish our duel later."

A nod, "I shall aid you Lancer."

After checking to make sure Irisviel was safe, Saber stepped out in the open to face the old man.

Normally Saber would be reluctant in killing a witness of the war; however, Henderson did try to kill them in the middle of their duel. That and he reminded her of Merlin. The kooky old wizard was always a bit frustrating at times. Teasing the young King was one of his favorite ways to entertain himself.

Squinting, eyeing both of them, Henderson asked half-hesitatingly...

"Diarmuid? Is that you? Where _have_ you been all these years?"

Though Henderson was a very crazy old man –there was no doubting that spear. Even if he waved it off as part of his deteriorating sanity, there was no doubt that the legendary spear, Gae Buidhe was in front of him. Yes, even though it was wrapped, Henderson could tell the shape of it. After all, he had taken several courses in mythology during his years in college.

Stopping in his tracks, Lancer's head cocked to the side, "Huh?"

He gritted his teeth, confused. No one, least of all an old man, should have recognized Gae Buidhe. It was impossible –glancing to his side for a brief moment, Lancer's spear was still wrapped in a firm cloth. No one should have realized what the spear was! So how did he...

"Oh come on, I'd notice that Gae Buidhe anywhere! So how's life treating you?" He asked casually, as if seeing a heroic spirit was something he saw every day.

"How?" was asked hesitantly. Now the old man _needed _to die. A Servant's identity was important to hide, because of the unique weapons and skillsets each had.

And yet, this old man blew Lancer's identity within the first few minutes of meeting him. Lancer was still on the _how_ part. Was his spear that easy to recognize?

Saber looked at Henderson, and then back at Lancer, and then at Henderson again.

Lancer... was Diarmuid of the Love Spot? If the elderly man told the truth, then she had to be careful not to be hit by the other spear, or she could have suffered a non-healable injury. That said -how did the old man figure Lancer's Noble Phantasm out that quickly?

Diarmuid of the Love Spot... a legendary hero in Irish folklore. He was a powerful warrior that was said to have dual-wielded two spears, named Gae Dearg and Gae Buidhe. Gae Dearg was a long spear that nullified magical enchantments. On the other hand was Gae Buidhe... which was a short spear that rendered wounds left by it un-healable. There was little doubt that these weapons, along with Lancer himself, made the user a formidable opponent.

It wasn't only the spears that revealed Lancer's identity though. Another 'object' that gave his identity away was the mole under his left eye. In Lancer's legend, his 'love spot' was said to be able to make any woman fall in love with him at first glance. The only reason Saber was unaffected by it, was because of her innate magical resistance.

Irisviel peered from her hiding spot, at Henderson. She felt that he was... unique? Different? One of those two, at least. Being specially trained at a young age, Irisviel was designated to find and detect anomalies in the world. Most particularly, magical anomalies that weren't supposed to belong in the first place.

It was surprising that she could not detect him earlier.

Taking a drink out of his cup, Henderson replied "Took a bunch of courses in Irish Mythology back in Utah. That was after I hunted for those pesky Keebler elves in the Safari Zone. 'Course, that was _before_ I went shopping for high heels..."

Indeed, Henderson went to the Safari quite a few times. Mowing down many animals, he hung his walls with numerous animal hides, having taken them as trophies. What was false in his statement was that he hunted Keebler elves, when in fact, he never strayed upon one.

Staring at Henderson as if he had grown two heads, Saber shook her head, and began muttering to herself. Lancer gripped his spear tightly.

An understandable reaction, given that Henderson was the very epitome of insanity.

"Damn lawyers running around my bank. Stole my life savings they did," Henderson growled, remembering a distant memory, "Never did again after I put a bunch of bullets into them. 'Course, that was after I went skydive-fishing for tigers in Antarctica."

Said lawyers were of course, con artists in disguise. As for skydive-fishing for tigers in Antarctica –there was no such thing. In actuality, Henderson was spending his time in the Arctic –_not _Antarctica. As for the tigers he mentioned... they were polar bears that never existed in the Arctic to begin with.

Having traveled there once, Henderson could testify that the Arctic was the worst place to take a vacation to. Well, next to Antarctica at least. Lancer shook his head. Playtime was over. The old man had to die now before they all went insane from his meaningless blather. Not that he had any objections to that right now. Insanity seemed like a decent way to go if he was to die.

Wait... that didn't sound right.

"Look, I'm sorry to do this, but I have to kill you now," Lancer said and readied his lance. Saber readied her sword. This was _not _supposed to be in the Grail war. Saber's distate for eliminating witnesses was clear as ever on her face, but if this was the cost to save her kingdom, then she would do it –albeit with a bitter expression.

Henderson paused mid-drink to look at him, "Now that's a mighty shame."

"What is?" Lancer blinked at him in confusion. What was? The old man would be the first person to be impaled by his spear. Unless he was questioning Lancer's pride... well, if he was, then two stabs with Gae Dearg would do the trick. _Then _he could get back to his _honorable _duel with Saber, unlike this... this _ruffian_.

"This,"

Whipping out his shotgun, Henderson shot Lancer several times in the right shoulder, the shells protruding from the other side of his body, making him scream in pain. The speed and proximity of the bullet left a well sized hole in the Heroic Spirit's arm. Flowing down the gap, red liquid began to slick his armor.

Lancer dropped his shorter lance and dived to the side, out of the way of Henderson's continuous fire. This man was crazy! To be able to harm a servant... he must've been very lucky.

...Just what the HELL was going on here!?

* * *

Looking down at the action, an old man sat on the roof of Henderson's complex. This was Zelretch, one of Henderson's friends. They occasionally went for drinks on Fridays. In fact, he was the one who helped guide Henderson to this universe.

Smirking at the conflict beneath him, he left in a gust of wind. His mission to screw with the 4th war's plot was a success. Maybe he would screw with the Clock Tower next? Magically lock all the doors, reinforce the windows, and chuck all the magicians in a room with Cthulhu? An idea with _much _merit!

Laughing in the night, Zelretch disappeared. Kiritsugu could've sworn something bad was going to happen, but dismissed it as his nerves. No matter the scenario, there was always a way out -unless lives were forced to be taken.

"Dammit..." Henderson cursed and whipped out the shotgun on Saber, "The hell offa my property!"

"Dammit Maiya, prepare to retreat!" Kiritsugu yelled over the radio. The situation was totally out of hand. Maiya replied with her consent as he trained his sights on Henderson. Kiritsugu ducked and focused the sniper rifle on Henderson. He was an easy target –didn't move much.

"Emiya Kiritsugu, Eliminating the target."

Firing, the shot hit Henderson squarely in the head, propelling him back. Kiritsugu ran with his supplies as he opened his mental link to Saber. Though he didn't intend to contact his servant at all during the war, it was unavoidable in this situation. He had no doubt that Assassin would be after him.

_"Saber, retreat with Irisviel,"_ he thought, _"Go!"_

* * *

Saber did as ordered and retreated, carrying Irisviel on her arms as the homonculus gasped in surprise. Kiritsugu gritted his teeth. This wasn't going as planned at all. At least the old man was dead. He'd better leave before Assassin caught up.

Assassin left Kiritsugu alone by orders of his master. Not that Maiya was left alone.

Waking up some time later, Henderson found himself in a pool of his own blood. He looked around at the devastation –something he was good at generating.

Probably two decades was sheared off by the bullet, maybe three. He felt a lot older now than he did before. Apparently Lancer had retreated by request of his master when he went to check. All that was left were some bloodstains.

"Damn Rupes," Henderson coughed as he spoke to the stuffed parrot on his shoulder, "That hurt. Whoever shot me is goin' down. Worse than those gnome-stealing cultist bastards."

Henderson needed to find out about this whole schtick. He needed a lead, but where was he going to find...

"W-W-What!? W-Who are you!?" a voice cried out behind Henderson. It was a boyish voice. Henderson estimated it to be someone in either middle school or high school.

Perfect.

He found someone that could give an explanation for this madness, not that Henderson was mad himself. It was just that he was so used to it, having seen... _things_ that man wasn't meant to know. After killing Hastur, Henderson's madness was increased ten-fold. It was actually one of his reasons for drinking away at a bar on Fridays.

Henderson took the joint out of his mouth and turned around. Taking in the chariot by blaming his craziness, he scrutinized the boy's features. He was a schoolboy like Jimmy, one of Henderson's allies from the Hastur conflict.

The boy wore a green sweater and had slightly long hair with a derpy hair cut that would make Moe, Curly, and Larry from the Three Stooges -proud. He was cowering in the front seat of the chariot, which Henderson assumed that it was a really big bicycle.

Next to the boy, was a great muscular man that stood at least twice Henderson's height.

Henderson assumed that he was a figment of his imagination.

However, if he hadn't already seen beings-that-should-not-be, a bunch of cults, and the battle just now, then he might have been a little awed.

"Name's Henderson," he said, taking in the last gulp of alcohol, "You here to mess with my leisure time too?"

The boy hardly looked like it, but Henderson had to ask. After being shot, he was still a little tense. There was no doubt that if the boy crept up to him any sooner, he would've been shot. Sure, Henderson would've felt a bit guilty, but when someone kills him... well, let's say that heads will roll.

"Too?" the boy asked, regaining some of his composure, "Y-You mean there were other servants here?"

Henderson made a dismissive gesture, "Not sure what those 'lovely servants' are, but some damn kids were playing 'Knights of Pen and Paper' 'til I got out my shotgun."

For some reason, the muscular man looked impressed, "You fended them off?"

Henderson scratched his beard. "Yeah, got a couple shots on Diarmuid before he bolted. Took lessons in shotgunning from a little birdy named Elmer Fudd. Practiced Duck Hunt too."

Scrutinizing Henderson with one eye, the muscular man sat on the chariots reins. It was as if the old man was a rather expensive washing machine that was selling at a flea market. He chuckled, "A brave warrior! One who has fended off not one, but two servants!"

Rider looked at Henderson calculatingly as the old man began debating with the stuffed parrot on his shoulder. A variation of his idea sprouted forth. It might be a rejected notion by Henderson, but if the old man accepted, then he would have a very brave warrior at his side.

Everything belonged to Iskander, after all.

"Henderson, was it? How would you like to ally with us for the war?"

Was he insane? That was what the boy thought. As a master and participant in the grail war, he couldn't allow witnesses to run around amok.

Henderson looked more the type to blow up a lot of stuff, burn down buildings, and attract attention. Introducing such a factor to the war would only result in the nuking of Fuyuki City!

He didn't look inconspicuous at all!

"Y-You idiot! Witnesses are supposed to eliminated according to the rules!" he managed to stutter out. Henderson stopped talking to the stuffed parrot on his shoulder and turned to the boy, who seemed to be deathly afraid of Henderson.

Returning the joint to his mouth, Henderson replied "Rules are meant to be broken. 'Law' is a synonym for signs that mean 'shut up and break them'. Now, that isn't necessarily true in some cases, but it _is_ true in most cases. So what I'm saying is that you _shouldn't_ break them."

Did he really fend off two servants? The old man seemed a bit off. The boy was willing to bet that Henderson was in fact –drunk. On top of that, was the white cigar he held weed? Chances are that he was hallucinating, or completely off his rocker.

"Well said!" the jovial man bellowed and clapped the boy's back. The boy tumbled forward on the chariot, "I-Idiot..."

Raising his hand, Henderson said "First of all, you'll be allying with me. Not the other way around." The man's muscular eyebrows rose, "I need someone to help me get back on the guy that shot me, and whatever ugly poodles he owns."

Poodles? Was he _really _the guy that managed to escape death from a servant, of all things? This was... not logical! The only poodle you would be able to find in this country was an exported one.

Besides that unlikely train of logic, most Masters in the war would _not _be carrying dogs around -though it was amusing to imagine Kayneth El-Melloi petting a dog with his hands.

"Second of all," Henderson said, "I want you to tell me what in fuckin' hell this damn 'Knight's and Wizards' thing is about."

With an burrowing stare, the muscular man, or rather, Rider, sat in thought. And then laughed. The old man was amusing –almost as amusing as his small master here. The spiritual king needed some entertainment... and here was some! This war was going to become very interesting...

"Very well, Henderson, you may have your way," Rider said and gestured to the backseat of the Chariot, "From now on, we are allies in the Holy Grail War!"

Clambering onto the "Giant Bicycle" Henderson kicked off his shoes, and rested his feet on the boy's head.

Irritated, Waver's face twitched. His aerophobia was about to be taken to even greater heights.

Rider laughed loudly.

Smoking a spliff, Henderson closed his eyes.

The chariot set off into the night sky.

* * *

"How troublesome..." Risei said, rubbing his head. He was a priest in the Kotomine Church, a popular area for the forsaken. That aside, he was also the moderator of the Holy Grail War.

The church acted as neutral grounds for the war. Any masters caught trespassing would receive a penalty, namely the loss of a command seal -a tool used by masters to force their servant's to take an action.

The loss of all three seals would render the contract between master and servant broken.

"At least he was killed..." Kirei Kotomine muttered and turned to Assassin.

"No, he's still alive," Kirei turned around to find Assassin in the shadows, "One of my dopplegangers witnessed his resuscitation. Despite being a witness in the war, Rider allied with him."

Moaning, Risei rubbed his head in a resigned manner. Henderson was like a cockroach: despite being shot, he always came back.

He always had a feeling that the war would not be as simple as it was described. _Nothing _concerning magecraft was always simple. Even his son was not as simple as before.

After their meeting was over, Risei decided that he would trot off to the nearest pharmacy for some aspirin. He was simply getting too old for this.

"Take him out," Kirei ordered, "He's a threat to the war."

Assassin nodded and left the church, leaving Kirei to his thoughts about the future of the war. Maybe he shouldn't have told Assassin to kill Henderson. He seemed interesting enough. Not as interesting as Emiya, but he would do too.

Muttering to himself, Kirei almost missed what his father said:

"And if that doesn't work... then we'll have to bring in the Magi Association..."

* * *

"...Hole-ee Grail War, eh?" Henderson repeated, scratching his beard, "Seems like a worthwhile investment in my time. I might as well get my damn lawn gnomes back from that charity using the grail."

It was dawn. Waver had spent the rest of the night explaining to Henderson the rules of the war and the purpose of it. It took several repeats because the old man kept forgetting what they were talking about every once in a while.

When the subject of magecraft was revealed, Henderson shrugged and muttered something about cults.

Luckily, Henderson hadn't introduced Waver to the world of substance abuse. Yet.

With not enough room inside the base Waver had hypnotized from, Henderson decided to give no fucks about the issue and slept on the ground outside. The breeze was pleasantly nice. A wind blew as he drifted off to sleep.

Spotting a shadow, Henderson fired several shots in that direction, waking up Waver's "grandparents." They fell asleep, believing it to be their "grandson" making a ruckus.

* * *

Gilgamesh, the King of Uruk, looked down from a building. There were evidently servants battling here, but none in sight. It was insulting to think that he, a king, missed an opportunity to crush some mongrels.

"Cowardly worms," he growled and went back to the Tohsaka manor, vanishing into his astral form. The next time they appeared he _would _crush them.

That was absolute... no, a _guaranteed_ promise.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

It was dark: pitch black with only a sliver of light to see. The room was shrouded in an aura of mystery that made most caves look very unmysterious. That said, it was very mysterious.

That wasn't the only thing off about the portrayed scenario. Noises of pain tinted the room's atmosphere as two men sat around a source of light. You could smell the blood that emanated from the floors and the walls.

Underneath the two figures was a light.

It was a crystal ball that could fit easily in the palm of your hand. If you peered into it, you would've been able to see the aftermath of the battle between Henderson and the two servants.

The destruction wasn't immense, but there was damage to the area. _Read: A LOT of damage to the area._ Embedding into the building were bullet holes, large and small. Blood was splattered on constructs that were well structured to halting projectiles. Lingering in the air was the smell of fresh gunpowder, emitting from a shotgun. A battle between servants would've been easy to detect, due to the sheer amount of magical residue left there.

But they didn't need to, as they saw it all from the crystal globe. Battling in the docks were two servants –Saber and Lancer, and was later joined by an old man, whom the globe labeled as "Henderson". Oddly enough, he didn't seem to have a first OR last name. Conversing with Henderson, both servants readied their weapons.

And then it happened.

With speed that could rival an Olympic gymnastic, Henderson dropped the joint from his mouth, and whipped out his shotgun out, shooting Lancer several times in the shoulder. Striking up an alliance with Rider, Henderson climbed onto the chariot, and they rode into the night.

Staring at the globe, one of them looked on at the scene in awe, sitting at the edge of his seat. The other one seethed under his breath. This was Caster, one of several classes in the grail war. His long finger nailed hand clenched the globe in anger. Though his expression was passive, he was as we called it in this day and age, pissed.

Perhaps pissed wasn't the right word: his teeth were gritted together. His other hand was clenched so tightly that blood began to bleed out of the palm. In essence, he was _very _pissed.

The other one, Ryunosuke, was what you called a "childish serial killer" –a killer that gleaned so much excitement from murder that he turned into something similar to a very clingy fan-girl. Though instead of clinging to a guy, Ryunosuke clinged to murder. With an eager, innocent face, it was hard to picture him as a man who took lives.

"That was so cool!" he exclaimed excitedly. Ryunosuke hadn't been lying –it was cool! How many old men actually had the guts to pull out a shotgun in the midst of devastation like that! "That wasn't just a video game, was it, Mr. Bluebeard?"

"Mr. Bluebeard?" He inquired nervously. His partner in crime was silent, making him even more nervous.

No, it seemed to him that Bluebeard was pissed. Backing away Ryunosuke gave him some room. Some people needed a focus to let out their anger, and Ryunosuke didn't want to be that focus.

"How dare he..." Caster breathed heavily,"...how dare a mere peasant raise a weapon to beautiful Jeanne's face! My light! My savior!"

As Bluebeard rambled, Ryunosuke wondered who the woman was to have an impact that large on Mr. Bluebeard. The way he spoke of her would've made other people think that he was some type of stalker, but Ryunosuke knew Bluebeard better than most during their short time together.

Maybe she was someone who influenced Mr. Bluebeard to kill?

No, that felt wrong.

The blonde haired woman he saw in the crystal ball didn't seem to be the type to kill indiscriminately. If anything, she seemed a lot more 'civil' than Caster or Ryunosuke.

No, it was Old Man Henderson he was interested in. How did he injure that 'Lancer' guy, let alone have that many shells in his shotgun? How was he able to resuscitate himself when he was shot in the head?

It was only this tiny detail that made him interested in the war. If Henderson hadn't shown up, Ryunosuke might've carried on with his crime spree. But now...

"She sounds... nice," Ryunosuke commented. He didn't know who or what the blonde haired girl was, but if Mr. Bluebeard was the delighted... then it must be good, right? And if Mr. Bluebeard was happy, then they could go and bring more 'art' in the world!

"Yes! Yes! She is, Ryunosuke!" Bluebeard bellowed happily, all thoughts of mutilating Henderson's body removed, "She was my light in the dark! A beauty amidst the dark!"

Ranting about how wonderful the 'maiden' was, Ryunosuke felt happy for Bluebeard. If she could bring this amount of joy to Mr. Bluebeard, then he felt that he shouldn't interrupt. After all, this meant more 'art' would be generated. Mr. Bluebeard would be able to show him more ways to mutilate the human body into 'art'!

"-and that is why..." Caster's eyes bulged darkly, "Henderson will die. For trampling over Jeanne's pride and beauty he shall..."

Continuing to rant for several more minutes, the tiny skin-made handbook snapped open, bringing Ryunosuke's attention to the fore, "Oh yesssss... Henderson shall pay for sullying the Holy Maiden's shoes!"

With that, he began chanting in a language that Ryunosuke couldn't make heads or tails of. Surrounding Caster was a dark glow that intensified as the chant grew faster and faster until his master couldn't keep up anymore.

The sheer power of the spell was given off in waves that made his hair stand up, like in rare occasions in which Ryunosuke would use blood as substitute for hair gel. Silencing, Dimming, the noises of pain faded away as spilt blood flowed backwards, splattering the room's dank walls, as if buckets of paint were dumped on several sheets of canvas.

Then it stopped. Ryunosuke couldn't help but step back as he looked at what could said to be abominations. Tentacled abominations that looked like they could rip him in half.

Pulsing, the... _things_ energized the room, bringing attention to the immense power they wielded. Ryunosuke's mouth was agape as Caster slowly moved forward.

Ryunosuke's eyes were in a trance that could be described as 'morbid fascination'. There was only one word he could utter about it, and that was "cool!"

He didn't say anything though. Deep in a trance that could be described as "worshipful", Ryunosuke sat on the ground.

There was one thing that could describe the situation before him, and that was "cool...!"

"Kill Henderson," Caster ordered with a gleeful grin plastered on his face.

It spoke of insanity.

He gleefully rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Soon, the Holy Maiden's defiler would be killed and Gilles de Rais would be with her forever!

Ryunosuke slumped against the wall, happy for Mr. Bluebeard and the art they would soon create. And it would be... _excellent_!

* * *

Just who was he? That was what Kirei Kotomine was thinking in one of the cells within the church. Most certainly the old man was a clear threat to the war. A man that could injure a servant...an unexpected factor in the midst of things.

True, the old man didn't pique his interest as Emiya Kiritsugu did, but was still a subject of interest nevertheless. Kirei paced around his cell in deep thought.

Of course, he could have Assassin kill him, but that might reveal his servant's presence to Rider, since they allied with each other. It was unprecedented. Masters usually allied themselves before the war, not during. Granted, the old man wasn't a master, he was a witness of the war –an anomaly that, by all means, should have been 'removed' already.

Kirei decided to order Assassin to spare him for now. For some reason, he felt a sort of... _joy_ from the destruction Henderson had caused.

"...One of my doppelgangers found this spying on the church."

Kirei turned around to face Assasssin. He glanced at the object in the Servant's hand, an animal clearly. It was a bat with a camera taped to it. There was no doubt that Kiritsugu Emiya sent it. No traditional magus would resort to modern technology, for fear of becoming inferior.

"...Let it go," Kirei ordered. Assassin nodded and handed it off to a doppelganger, whom disappeared into the shadows. If Kirei had reported this to his father, there was no doubt that Emiya would lose a Command Seal. On the other hand, if he allowed the bat to continue spying on him...

... Then none of the other participants would suspect that he still had a servant.

"We've also found the old man."

Turning, Kirei raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

Was he killed by Assassin already?

If so, he still had Emiya to question. It wouldn't make much difference anyways, except that one was insane, and the other wasn't, "Continue."

Assassin paused before proceeding with his report, "We were forced to retreat after being spotted," he winced at the injury below his knees, "Right now, he's lodging at Rider's base of operations."

Pondering over this, Kirei nodded, "Keep an eye on him. There's no need to kill him right now."

Of course, this was an affront as an excuse. There were plenty of reasons to kill him -the main reason that he was a threat to the war's secrecy. He had a flashy and distinct attire that screamed 'look at me!'

I mean, a Mohawk, Hawaiian Shirt, and aviator shades? Who _wore_ that in Japanese society these days? Not even _America_ housed citizens that dressed themselves that flashily.

And when he ordered Assassin to investigate the old man's home, he became baffled at what resulted. Apparently when one of Assassin's doppelgangers searched the home, they found around 400-something shades in one of the drawers, 10 of the exact same T-shirts that he currently wore, many boots laced with heelies, a _very_ prominent sex toy that had L.U.C.Y on it, much to Kirei's disgust, and a basement layered with lawn gnomes. Any part of the floor that _wasn't _layered with gnomes was painted to _look _like gnomes. Kirei could only come to one conclusion, and that was the old man was completely off his rocker.

In fact, said doppelganger was now curled up in a tiny ball by Kirei's cell. Whimpering his entire report, the doppleganger locked himself in with Kirei and began crying -it didn't look like the doppelganger wanted to move out any time soon.

His mutterings about 'tentacles', 'eyes', and 'monsters' made Kirei all the more curious. The most he could get out of the doppelganger was something about tentacles and an 'abomination'. He wondered what could cause that to a _servant's_ doppelganger.

And another thing... how was he able to sob that much under the heavy mask he wore?

Pondering over these strange occurrences, Kirei went to the kitchen to get something to eat. A sandwich or two would do the trick. Perhaps a glass of wine? He heard the Merlot was pretty good...

* * *

"You useless servant!"

Crouching, Lancer bowed his head in shame. Ashamed that he failed his master that is.

Kayneth El-Melloi sat in front of Lancer, his expression a cold one. The hotel room he rented was well furnished and cleanly. As well as any other magus should, he rented the best and most expensive room, because only the best could have the best.

He was by no means only smug about that. The other reason for his confidence was in the bounded fields he set up, surrounding the second half of the hotel. Not even _Assassin_, if he was still alive, could break in easily.

"Not only have you failed to defeat Saber –you have been injured as well! By an old man no less!" Kayneth scolded coldly.

This could not have gone uncontested. Henderson was, or _would_ have been one of Kayneth's main targets. As a potential threat to the war and Magecraft in general, Kayneth would've been forced to focus his efforts on the _commoner_. That is, if Henderson wasn't dead already.

Thank the heavens that the old man was killed. At least Lancer did not waste him a Command Seal!

"Kayneth, calm down!" a redheaded woman scolded, "Do _not_ pin all the blame on Lancer!"

Gritting his teeth, Kayneth turned his head to look at his 'beloved', "Sola..."

The woman had been cold to him ever since Lancer was summoned, and even then, was indifferent to Kayneth before the war. Why was she trying to defend this... this _tool_!? It didn't make sense! Unless... unless...!?

Sola-Ui, wife of Kayneth, cut him off, "Besides, where were you! If you hadn't been hiding in the shadows, then the old man would've been eliminated easily!"

"I could not risk being targeted by the other Masters. Besides, if I actually went down there, Saber might have attacked me instead!"

Drifting out into the battlefield would have left Kayneth open to attack, and he couldn't die this early in the war. If he did die that early on, then it would've been a disgrace to the name of El-Melloi. Not only that, but that would leave his 'beloved' wide open to attack!

Even though he loved her with all his might, it was clear that she didn't return those feelings. Paining Kayneth, he attended the Holy Grail war for the express purpose of gaining her approval.

Listening, Lancer had mixed opinions between the two. Even now, he plotted to rid of Henderson. As an abnormal faction in the war... one that could harm servants with a mere shotgun, he could _not _be allowed to live. Sure, the shotgun was a normal weapon, but the person wielding it was _not_ normal.

On the other hand was Saber. By their first clash, Lancer was able to gauge her abilities quite well, having fought her. There was no doubt that her actual limitations were restricted by the invisible blade she wielded. Just a little more and he would've found out the approximate length of her blade...

"Enough," Lancer decided to interrupt the 'couple's' argument, "Even if you are my Lord's wife, I will not tolerate any insults directed towards him. I ask that you stand down on his decision, Ms. Sola,"

Hesitation "...Fine. Alright...If you say so Lancer..."

Silence engulfed the room, making its inhabitants uncomfortable. Remaining crouched in front of his lord, Lancer bore his eyes into the ground, the wood creaking underneath his muscular figure.

Kayneth made no motions of discomfort from the silence that permeated the atmosphere. Standing up from the couch, he ambled to his, and Sola-Ui's bedroom.

"I shall retire for tonight. Sola, you should come too."

That left Lancer alone on a couch. At present, his mind raced with four priorities.

His first priority... was to serve his lord satisfactorily unlike his previous life, where he failed to meet said lord's standards. His lord's betrayal was still fresh in his mind, and he did not wish to repeat it again.

Pushing Ms. Sola away would be his second priority -Lancer recognized the signs of a woman charmed by his mole. Plus, her infatuation conflicted with his first priority, anyways.

If only he could get rid of the damn curse...

Lancer's third priority was to defeat Saber. Unsatisfied by its conclusion, he wanted another rematch with the Servant of the Blade. The old man interrupted the battle when it was beginning to form into an interesting battle, not that Lancer expected anything less from a Servant of the Saber class.

Little did Lancer knew, the war was going to become a lot more interesting...

* * *

Henderson woke up with a headache. This wasn't a normal hangover by any ways or means. Or methods. Or conducts. Or customs. The headache in question was, in actuality, a hangover.

Drinking a really large gourd of alcohol tends to do that to you.

No, we're not talking about a headache that lasts for one or two hours. The hangover in question would last a day. In fact, it was amazing that Henderson was still alive. His liver would've been shot a while ago if it wasn't for the eldritch god's essence keeping him alive.

Slowly, steadily, Henderson stood his ground, grunting from the bruises and aches that layered his body.

Even though the eldritch god's essence prevented him from dying, it didn't stop him from aches and bruises that he suffered. Only life threatening wounds and diseases were healed by the essence, and even then, they didn't heal completely. It was kind of inconvenient, but that was the price he had to pay in order to live.

Alright, what happened? Henderson tried to recall the events from last night... right, he apparently was a witness to something called the "Holy Grail War" –a battle royale in which seven contestants battled for an omnipotent, wish-granting device.

Then he got shot and resuscitated, only to find another one of those "Servant's" on a really kick-ass flying motorcycle.

Yeah, that's right... he was killed... Henderson was reminded of the pain that burrowed into his forehead. Pulling the bullet out was, perhaps the most painful thing he had to do in his entire life, other than being mauled by a gang of killer-bunnies, that is.

Henderson stood up, the dirt on the ground sticking to his arms and body, reminding him that he _really _needed to take a shower one of these days. Looking down, the shape of his body was clearly imprinted into the ground –a blight on the well-manicured lawn that... wasn't all that noticeable because of the grass springing back up.

He yawned and stretched out, the earthy smell of dirt surrounding him. It wasn't the best idea, considering that someone or some...thing attacked him last night, most likely in an attempt to mug him. No sir, there was no way that could have been Assassin –that's right, it was probably a stray dog.

And that feeling... the feeling that multiple people were talking about him? In the middle of the night? Eh, it probably wasn't anything...

Following the scent of food, Henderson walked up to the front door of Waver's grandparents and rang the doorbell four times, his gnarled hands trembling from lack of alcohol and food.

* * *

Waver wanted to cry.

Between Rider, and Old Man Henderson, he couldn't sleep at all. And the heights we went to last night... the _heights!_ Now, Waver wasn't the most acrophobic person on the planet, but when it came to the speeds and heights they went up to, well, let's just say that even the most composed of men would have cowered in their seat.

Seriously, the combined snoring of both men kept him awake _all night long_, but he supposed he wasn't going to get any sleep anyways...

Why did he attract all the crazy people, anyways?

Crying, Waver buried his head into the pillow, hoping that the war would end already.


End file.
